A Warrior in the Making
by Drex
Summary: In Seacouver, with Methos as her mentor, Mike battles herself to learn to kill.
1. Default Chapter Title

This is set after early fifth season, before Horseman, but after Richie finds out that Adam is Methos. I realize that in order for the timing to work, some episodes will have to be juggled a bit. Sorry. I guess you could consider this an alternative universe type story.

#  A Warrior in the Making - Part I 

##  by 

Lisa Y. Drexel 

* * *

"Finally!" muttered Duncan MacLeod as he yanked his ignition key out of his black Thunderbird. "Of all the bloody days, the old man had to choose this one to fly in." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and growing irritation at Methos. 

But it was hard. He felt miffed and fighting ten thousand private security conventioneers didn't help. For the past hour, MacLeod had already been involved with two near miss collisions. One with a crazed cab driver who forgot what a solid yellow line meant in the middle of the road and another one with an old woman who, at a quick glance, MacLeod summarized shouldn't have been on the road in the first place, because she appeared to be nearly legally blind.

All this, and he hadn't even left his car for the terminal.

Rationally, the Scot knew it wasn't the older Immortal's fault that Michelle Evans experienced her first death the night before or that as a new Immortal, she needed to start her training immediately, or her immortal life would end as quickly as it began. 

Rationally, MacLeod knew all this.

But emotionally, he was seething. 

As he began his mile long trek to the airport terminal, MacLeod forced himself to calm down enough to look at the whole situation a little more rationally.

Yes, he was angry with the old man. 

And confused.

_But_, he reminded himself, _Michelle Evans didn't deserve to be included in his emotional tirade against Methos. She was an innocent--stuck in the middle of two stubborn and headstrong Immortals._

It wasn't Michelle's fault that Methos had disappeared over three months ago without a word to either Joe or him, only leaving feelings of anger and betrayal in his absence. 

And finally, it wasn't her fault that after a year of friendship, MacLeod sometimes felt as if he really didn't know Methos at all and that somehow, this young woman was privy to some part of the other immortal that he had yet to trust Mac with.

_It was all so bloody confusing_, he thought to himself as he finally made it to the metal detector. As he leaned against the wall, waiting for his friend and his companion, his mind drifted to the past--three months before when both Joe Dawson and Mac himself were put on trial by the Watchers.

He still felt a rush of anger when he thought of Jack Shapiro and his friend, Jacob Galati's death. That whole scenario had left a sour taste in the Scot's mouth and for months he was too angry to deal with Joe Dawson, his watcher and friend or Methos, the Immortal Watcher.

If he hadn't been so intrigued by Methos' newest student, he would've told the old man to take a cab. But his curiosity had been peeked and he couldn't help wondering what kind of person it would take to somehow touch that cynical heart of Methos. 

He understood the ancient's reasoning, but it didn't make MacLeod feel any better. In some ways, Methos followed his heart more so that the Scot himself. Methos made a conscious choice: his two friends for one life. Especially Joe's. Dawson was one of the few individuals alive, Immortal and mortal, that managed to break through at least a few of the older Immortal's walls. To Methos, it didn't matter that one friend was a mortal and the man who lost his life was Immortal. What mattered was that Joe Dawson knew who exactly Adam Pierson was and had accepted the 5000-year-old man for that. The least Methos could do was fight for his life.

At the time, it surprised for the Scot. And it shamed him. Mac's reaction to the whole ordeal was one of distaste. From the moment MacLeod had heard and met the Watchers, he felt torn. The idea that these mortals knew all of his secrets was disconcerting, to say the least. That they knew how to kill him was even more disturbing. But in his years of friendship with Dawson, he found that most of the Watchers were like Joe--dedicated to history and the truth. Only a few blamed Immortals for their own mortal failings--such as Horton and Jack Shapiro. And MacLeod's friendship with Joe saved more than a few lives--Immortal and mortal alike. But the trial was a result of a series of misconstrued actions and undaunted anger--by Galati as well as Shapiro. And both of these men had power to hurt others. 

His reaction was swift and quick. Galati was wrong and needed to be shown the truth. Shapiro was wrong and needed to be shown the truth and then everyone could just deal with the consequences of Horton's legacy. But man wasn't that simple, and the trial showed that. Both the Watchers as well as Galati wanted justice where there was none. 

In the end, something had to give, and in this instance, it was Galati's life. After receiving the gypsy's quickening, MacLeod was not only pissed but devastated as well. He was furious at everyone: from the group of Watchers that held the trial, to Galati, to his friends, Joe Dawson and Methos. The webs that had been woven around him nearly suffocated MacLeod--denying him any choice of actions. At the time he believed that if this was going to be the result of his ongoing friendship with Joe Dawson and Adam Pierson, the Watchers, then he was no longer willing to participate.

When he finally realized that he was acting as arrogantly as those he fought, he made amends with Dawson. He had yet to do the same with Methos. 

The old man had disappeared, taking a leave from the Watchers. Until that morning, MacLeod hadn't heard from him since Galati's death. 

_So, who was this woman that, like Joe, had broken through those centuries-old barrier the ancient Immortal had built? What made Michelle Evans so special?_

MacLeod had already pumped Dawson for all the information he could get about the woman. A former field operative for the Watchers. Assigned to six Immortals in 8 years. All youngsters. Every one of them except the last had lost his head while on her watch.

_At least that would explain why none of her assignments felt her pre-Immie status,_ he thought. _They were all too young to recognize her for what she was._

She was lucky in that aspect. The woman could've lost her head before she even really lived. 

But, as fate played out, she got sick. One of the deceptively yuppie-type diseases that seemed to wreak more chaos and pain in the person's life than the medical community wanted to admit. Joe told MacLeod that Mike believed it was an undetectable virus that played havoc with the inflicted's immune system. And with her, it was devastating enough to force her off the field into research.

That's where she met Methos. 

Michelle, or Mike, as she liked to be called, was allowed to go back to her hometown and work as a researcher--using her computer as her library. She ended up becoming one of the Americas top researchers. Apparently she had knack for pulling pieces of seemingly unrelated information and linking them together. Joe also said she had compiled a database containing all unidentified Immortals. Included in that database was where the said Immortal was spotted, description, contacts and even a speculation section. 

She even impressed the unflappable Methos.

On a more personal note, according to Dawson, not only was she pretty, but she also was quick with the verbal comeback and had a good, honest heart. 

Suddenly, he felt the all too familiar buzz warning him of an Immortal nearby and scanned the terminal. Within seconds he saw them.

Once he recognized Methos, he found his eyes drifting towards the woman standing next to him. He had to agree with Dawson, she was definitely pretty. At medium height, she seemed to reach the older Immortal's chin. Her hair, long, curly and golden blond, fell down her back to her waist and seemed to breathe a life of its own. Her eyes, dark--blue? gray? He couldn't tell from this distance, but instinctively, he knew he would see her intelligence and humor sparkle through them. 

She possessed a voluptuous figure. One that Mac, and he was sure, Methos, would be sorry to see go once she began her training. From what Methos had told him earlier, before her first death, she had been at least forty pounds overweight. Although first deaths caused weight loss, she would have to work out and build her own muscle tone. 

Then he glanced back at Methos and their eyes met. MacLeod smiled despite himself and thought of how well the 5000-year-old Immortal could play the part of researcher and grad student. Especially at that instant when he saw how the older Immortal react to Michelle.

Once Mac felt her buzz he felt himself drawn to her. Although her Quickening was much smaller in comparison to her companions, it was still unusually strong for a new Immortal. Almost as strong as Richie's, and Richie had already taken a few heads. Seconds later, she looked up and titled her head to the side, as if she had gleaned an important fact and suddenly giggled, whispering something in Methos' ear.

The older Immortal said something back, most likely suggestive in manner, by the blush that seemed to quickly wash over her face. Still red, she playful smacked Methos in the stomach.

"--say that to all the girls, Adam."

"Only to you--"

"Yeah right. Next thing you do is spout some garbage Freud said, then I'll have to kill you."

"Hey, Freud was genius, I'll have you know. He had great insight into the fairer sex's psyche!"

She chuckled. "The man was delusional, Adam. He wanted to screw his mother and invented a whole discipline to--"

"Duncan!" Methos called out, grinning as he interrupted her comeback. 

MacLeod laughed. "Hello Adam," he said and then turned to the woman. "For the record, I'm on your side. Freud was neurotic fool."

"See, Adam. An evolved man. I guess it's his age. Not as many years of practicing sexism as you," she said, laughing. She placed her carry-on bag onto the floor. "Duncan MacLeod, I assume?" she said as he held out her hand to shake his.

MacLeod took her hand and instead of shaking it, brought it to his lips and kissed the back. "Michelle Evans, pleased to meet you."

She grinned, her face blushing. "Call me Mike and thanks for picking us up," she said, her eyes still twinkling in amusement as she gently pulled her hand away and reached for her bag.

"Not so fast, Mike! You owe me ten bucks! Now!"

She snapped her fingers. "'Seconds from a clean getaway.'" She dug into her pants pocket and pulled out two bills. A ten and a five. "This is all the cash I got. You didn't give me a chance to stop at an ATM." She said pouting as she handed him the ten.

"We had to get out there. It was too damn hot!"

She shook her head, grinning. "Well, it was worth every penny just be greeted like that." She turned to MacLeod. "He bet me that you would introduce yourself to me like that and I didn't believe him." For the second time, she reached for her carryall.

Duncan beat her to it. "Let me. Why didn't you believe him? If you knew anything about me, it would've been a sure bet. I never pass up a chance to flatter a beautiful woman," he said, and then bent his head over and whispered loud enough for Methos to hear him. "Although, I doubt he needs any money."

"A starving graduate student has got to eat!" Methos quipped.

Both Duncan and Mike glared at him barely containing their laughter as they shook their heads in mock disdain. She turned back to the Scot, pursing her lips in thought. A moment later, she responded.

"Because, that's how a gallant and handsome gentleman greets a beautiful and noble lady," she told him quietly as she tilted her head down in attempt to hide the blush creeping across her face. A small smile appeared on her face as she looked back up at him. "I never imagined I was either."

* * *

Two hours later, Adam and Mike entered his condo. It had been months since he had been there and from the stale air, that long since the place had been aired out. He waited for her to enter, and locked the door behind himelf. 

"Welcome to my home. Or at least one of them."

She eyed the expensive decor in bewilderment. "Is this where you stay as Adam Pierson?"

He laughed as he shook his head. "It's my very rich uncle's, one Howard Pierson III. It's in his name. Although, he's never here when I'm in town, so no one bothers to wonder. Clever, eh?" He said as he plopped down on the couch and propped his feet onto the coffee table, looking cool and debonair.

It would've worked if not for the cloud of dust that flew into the air.

Coughing, Mike laughed. "I think we need to air this place out."

"Bloody hell, why can't I ever impress a woman?" He muttered standing up, wiping the dust off his behind as he walked into another room. "Want a beer? I know I left some in here."

She yawned and shook her head. "No, it'll put me asleep." She followed him into the kitchen. "Got any coffee in here?"

"Try the freezer."

She went over to the stainless steel huge double door appliance an opened the door on the left side and jumped back in surprise as a package of frozen meat fell out.

"Oops, sorry about that. Rule number...um...357...for Immortals: always stock your freezer but never leave anything in your refrigerator you don't want spoiled," he said as he pulled out a dozen eggs, checking the expiration date. "Like these. If broken, I'm sure that the EPA would come and mark the area as contaminated for the Superfund."

She opened the carton, making a face. "No shit. Not just the area, try the whole city." She said as she gently placed the carton on the counter, careful not to break any of the eggs. 

"No, " he said making a face, "the city gets quarantined if anyone ever caught of whiff of this," he said tossing the offending piece of hairy, moldy whatever into the sink. "Yea Gods, I must've taken off quick the last time I was here. I usually make sure someone gets the food, if not Richie, MacLeod's student, then Joe or MacLeod." Then suddenly his face fell when he remembered.

"Alexa," she whispered.

He nodded slowly. "I guess I had more important things to worry about then, eh?" He said, trying to smile.

"Yeah, if I remember right, I would say so." She squeezed his shoulder affectionately as she carefully opened the freezer door again. "Now, about that coffee," she said as she pulled out the can. "Where the hell is your coffee maker in this monstrous kitchen of yours?"

Although still feeling a bit raw, he found himself falling back into routine with Mike. Conversation was light, filled with bad humor and worse innuendo. Within a half an hour, they had cleaned out the refrigerator of all the offending foods stuff and already had a trash bag filled, ready to take out to the dumpster. Methos found himself laughing as Mike insisted that he take out the trash. 

"If you want to act like a sexist pig, then take the trash out! Men have been doing that for centuries. Go hunt for food. Take care of the women and children. Be a man, Adam!"

"All right--I give. I give. You made me smile! Give me that!" he said indicating the white trash bag. She heaved it over to him, the bag threatening to split as he picked it up. "If this breaks...I'll kill you, Mike," he said grinning as he carefully began walking out the side door.

Giggling, Mike started the coffee and went back into the living room to grab her suitcase and overnight bag.

* * *

**_One month later - The Dojo - late afternoon_**

As he glanced up from his desk, he watched the two Immortals practicing in the other room. Methos was working her hard and MacLeod could see his friend was worried. Although Mike had a lot of passion for life, it was apparent she wasn't a killer.

Her work with the Katana that Methos had given to her progressed well. She had good instincts, as if she could intuitively predict her opponents moves, countering them with an uncanny precision. Her upper body strength was building daily, although nowhere near where it needed to be to survive in this deadly game Immortals found themselves in. 

She was running daily and MacLeod found out after the fact, that Richie was teaching her some self-defense classes in street fighting. Although somewhat taken aback, Duncan understood Methos' logic. Women needed every edge they could get. Not only to protect themselves from other Immortals, but from the average mortal predator's as well. Those same predator's that snuffed out her life to begin with.

She was also learning some martial arts--a mixed bag of moves that Duncan used supplemented by some of the old man's as well. She seemed to soar in anything athletic or physical, actually enjoying the pain her body felt daily.

Mac asked her about it and she shrugged sheepishly. "Because I know it won't last and because it'll make me stronger. This was how I felt all the time, without doing anything before without the awards. This time there's a reason."

Duncan nodded, understanding. He had met other Immortals who had been sick prior to their first deaths, and they all seemed to relish the physical aspects more than the 'average' Immortal. In more than one way, those Immortals were given a second chance.

Mike's one failing was her reluctance to draw blood. Each time, with MacLeod, Methos and Richie, she had, she turned white. The first time, she ran out of the room, barely making to the bathroom before she lost her breakfast. 

He could feel the tension in the other room. This was becoming more and more of a sore spot for the two. MacLeod could tell Methos hated pushing her, but he knew the alternative was unacceptable. 

MacLeod felt the buzz of an approaching Immortal as turned his eyes to the doorway to see Richie walk in, returning from making a deposit at the bank. The sparing had paused for a second, but quickly continued once the old man was at ease. Richie walked the perimeter of the room, avoiding the two and made his way to the office.

As soon as he walked in, he turned to MacLeod. "Is it my imagination, or has the tension level risen a few hundred degrees in the past hour."

"It has," Mac told him as he stood up and walked to the office doorway. "She's still avoiding drawing blood." 

"Come on Mike! Harder! Don't you want to live?" Methos spat out as his sword clashed against her.

"Of course I do, you arrogant ass!" she yelled as she dove to the floor to avoid one of those cagey 'Methos' moves that she had begun to despise with a passion. "I wouldn't fucking be here if I didn't!"

Methos swung at her again, this time using that upper body strength to knock her sword out of her hand. Within seconds his blade was at her throat. "Then you bloody well better act like it, because the next person who disarms you may not like that pretty head of yours like I do!" he whispered harshly, his voice cold and cruel.

MacLeod heard Richie quick intake of breath as he turned from the doorway. "Oh man, here it comes," he muttered.

MacLeod could sympathize with his former student. His and MacLeod's sessions together were intense as well. It was unnerving even to watch as bystanders. It brought up too many memories--even for MacLeod.

The Scot watched her bite her bottom lip, drawing blood. Her eyes flared. Her whole body was tense. 

And then suddenly she sagged, as if her will had just disappeared.

"How do you do it?" She yelled at her mentor. "I don't have a 'Methos' inside of me that I can use to grab cruelty and anger at a whim. I don't have the past you have to provoke myself, to hurt you!

"How in the fuck do you do it? Where the hell is the passion coming from, 'Adam?'" Her voice spitting out his persona. She rolled under his sword and stood up. "Just admit it. This emotional, roller coaster of a 20th century woman is fucked! Admit it!" she screamed as her sword dropped. She walked up to him, their faces inches apart. "The first time some jackass comes for my head, will be the last time! Maybe you should just buy me a fucking headstone and get it over with it."

"Oh shit," Richie whispered beside Mac as they watched the older Immortal. His body was rigid, anger seemed to pour out of him. In some ways she was right, where did this enigma of man find his passion.

In her, MacLeod answered himself. And me. Joe. Alexa. And maybe even Richie.

Methos grabbed her arm and swung her to face him. "I'll be damned if I let you do that to me! I've buried too many people I've cared about to let you just roll over and die! You want passion? I'll give you passion! The man that killed you? Imagined living and dying like that over and over again! Think about it. There are Immortals out there that are that cruel and worse. A beautiful woman like you--prey to be had, raped, used, and thrown away. I know Mike, I was one. So think, how do you want to live? In fear? Afraid that the next serial killer that comes along will be Immortal and he can do that to you forever or just until you're no longer any fun? Then he can take your head. Is that how you want to live? If not, fight! Or go to convent. But don't make me watch you die!"

He dropped her hand and stormed out into the locker room, sword still in hand.

Mike sobbed as she held her bruised arm and began pacing. "That son-of-a-bitch!" she yelled out into the air. She turned to Mac. "He's right. That's the fucking worst thing about it. All my life, I've been a pacifist, choosing my battles with my wit and mouth. The only time I've ever hurt anyone before this was when the other person threw the first punch and then I got the hell out of there before I could cause too much pain."

"Mike," he said quietly as he walked over to her. "If you had a way of stopping the man that killed you, would you have?"

"Of course I would've. I did. I managed to squeeze his balls so hard that he killed me in response."

As a man, MacLeod grimaced in sympathy, even though he knew that killer deserved it. "Would you have killed him?"

She closed her eyes for a moment and chewed on her now-healed bottom lip. A minute later her eyes opened, filled with tears and nodded.

"Then you have what it takes, Mike. Don't worry about us. You can't kill us unless you take our heads, but you have to learn how to cause your opponent pain and how to wear him down. That's all a part of winning. That's the only way you'll win."

Richie walked up and picked up her sword. "I know it's hard, Mike. I had the same problem. But if you remember that you can't really kill us--then go for it. It may hurt us in the short term, but look at your choices. Better you just hurt us, then die because you didn't learn how to fight."

For a moment she just stood there, eyes closed, tears rolling down her face. "I have to go talk to him." She turned and headed to the locker room.

* * *

Mike took a quick shower, leaving her hair in the same braid, and dressed. She stood outside the men's locker room doorway, squeezing the water from her hair and waited. Oh God, she was pissed today. And so was he. She had no idea what past demons she touched during their latest altercation, but she knew the wounds were deep. Although she had no idea what kind of life Methos led before he was Adam, she was under no illusions that it was all sweet and good. He had too hard of an edge to have not seen the worst side of himself.

Maybe that's why it hurt him so much. She knew, if he had the choice, he would not be pushing her to learn how to kill. At first, she thought it was because he didn't want her to change. But now after the latest brawl, she knew it went a lot deeper. He was as afraid of her becoming something evil as she was herself. Maybe he feared that she would become like he had.

But it was all speculation, for Adam Pierson kept most of his past and demons to himself. Only those who knew him at all, knew when they touched a raw part of his soul.

_What a faux pas, Old Man,_ she thought to herself. _To let that little bit of your past slip out. _Sighing, she bent her legs and slipped to the ground. 

_How in the hell did my life get so screwed up?_ she asked herself. _How did the one consistent relationship of my former life, become so convoluted?_

She heard the shower go off and stood up. Giving him a couple extra minutes to get dressed, she opened the door. 

"Adam? Can I come in?"

A loud exhausted sigh. "Yes."

She walked into the steam-ridden room to see her mentor, friend and yet-to-be lover sitting on a bench, with only a towel wrapped around his waist, in front of his locker, staring in front of him.

"You're right," she said as she walked over and leaned against the lockers. "I think I resisted because I was hanging onto the one thing that I believed, made me unique. Mike Evans, the fearless warrior who used words instead of weapons." She paused, looking over at him. "It made me special," her voice cracked, but she ignored it. "But I know, it'll get me killed."

He lifted his head and she saw the pain in his features. He reached for her hand and pulled her onto his lap. He cupped her face, and bent his head, their foreheads touching. "I wish I didn't have to win this one, Mike."

"I know, so do I," she admitted, cracking a small smile. He looked up and studied her face, his eyes still reflecting the pain that only he knew was in his heart. He touched her cheek, gently drawing circles with the wetness from her own tears, on her face. Then so slowly, she at first didn't realize what he was doing, he moved closer to her, and their lips touched. At first, the kiss felt like the first one they shared, that night so long ago in his hotel room in St. Louis, but suddenly it turned passionate and demanding. Her stomach fluttered as she wrapped her arms around his neck, desperately trying to mold herself into him. She felt herself perspire, a thin sheen of sweat covered her body. She moaned as she felt his own arousal underneath her and she squirmed, causing him to break the kiss. 

Both breathing hard, their foreheads touching once again, she found herself smiling. "I like this," she said quietly as she lifted her hand run her fingers through his wet hair.

He chucked. "Unfortunately, so do I. For all I know, it's all this unresolved sexual tension that's driving us crazy," he quipped. "But I can't do this with you yet."

Her eyes instantly filled with tears as she felt her heart sink. "Why?" _Please don't reject me now, Adam, please, please..._

He shook his head. "After 5000 years, you'd think I could separate this from my feelings. I have for thousands of years. But I can't right now. Not with you. Anyone else, I could. But not with you. I can't make love to you until I know you're going to do your best to live and grow stronger."

Still silently crying, she thought about what he said. It made sense. Alexa had only been dead for six months and if they allowed their relationship to progress any further, it would be intense. She already knew she was in love with him and suspected that he was battling that particular demon as well. _Well, one good thing about Immortality--not everything has to be right now this instant,_ she thought to herself. 

Sighing, she let out a big breath and smiled. "I understand." She answered quietly, hoping he understood everything she was trying to convey with those two words. A look of relief rushed across his face. What he didn't know, was that all three of her Immortal companions had made their point today. The next day, her practice sessions were going to be different. 

Suddenly smiling at that thought, she looked back over at him and decided he needed a bit of teasing. "But it is all your fault. You shouldn't have kissed me like that in the first place!"

"What? And ignore those crocodile tears and big blue eyes of yours? Or those lips? I couldn't. I can't," he said as he shrugged, easily slipping into their usual verbal batter. He sighed loudly, "You're just going to have to live with it, Mike. Consider it an incentive." He grinned slyly.

She shook her head, unable to wipe her own smile off her face. "You are an arrogant asshole." She started to stand up. "And they call women teases."

He stopped her, pulling her back down. "After this long, you've had to have known that I pick up a few things." His eyes met hers, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. She could see into his soul and she definitely liked what she saw. He kissed her again, this time quickly. "Up you go. We better get out of here, before MacLeod and Richie begin spying on us." 

"Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into?" she asked outloud as she stood up.

"Hopefully a ride of a lifetime, Mike. I can't promise you much, but I hope it'll be fun.

She held out her hand to pull him up as she chuckled. "I'll meet you at the office." 

"Deal."

**Epilogue**

True to her word, the next day at the dojo proved to be a turning point in Mike's training. Using her intuitiveness and natural ease with the sword, she finally used everything she had as she began to spar in earnest. Although she did visibly pale as she nicked Methos, she clenched her mouth, teeth showing and continued with the fight.

She passed the first test.

The tension eased.

She decided on life instead of death.

# The End


	2. Default Chapter Title

This takes place during the episodes, Comes the Horseman and Revelations: 6.8

#  A Warrior in the Making - Part II 

##  by 

###  Lisa Y. Drexel 

* * *

**Mike**

It's funny, no matter how much you read or how much you think you know, it isn't until you actually experience something, that true knowledge really emerges. That's how Immortality is. When I was field operative, I got to watch the comings and goings of Immortals, their battles, their struggles and I really believed I had a handle on what it would be like to be Immortal. Any Watcher wonders and dreams. To spend your life following people, taking that blasted Oath of silence--all the other hoops that Watchers have to go through just to watch and observe--they have to be just a little curious about what it would be like to live forever. I know I was. I used to stand there, in the rain or snow or sun, and daydream on what it would be like to live 200 years from now with the soul of Mike Evans. 

I had a good time and it was a great way to spend those endless hours watching. But it was a fantasy. Nothing like the reality of life. Being Immortal is so much like being normal that it's uncanny. Immortals get up every morning, eat, drink, take shits, just like mortals. They have wants, desires, fears of failure and success, sexual desires. They have to work out, build those muscles, eat healthy. I know all these things, because all I have to do is look at myself nude and marvel at how much my body has changed in the past six months. Before my First Death, I was 40 pounds overweight, my muscles were tight and sore, yet not strong. I hadn't exercised or been active for three years. I was a physical mess.

I lost the weight overnight. That's what Immortality does. It heals or rights things that are wrong with your physical self. But, I was still weak, and those muscles still needed strengthening. So, like all the rest of the humans, I had to work out and train and become stronger...

I woke up.

It's funny how I didn't apply that knowledge into everything. For nearly four years, Adam and I have been the best of friends. Before we even met in person, he was telling me things that he told no one else. He was turning to me for some hard met advice. Once I became Immortal and figured out that he was the elusive Methos that 'Adam Pierson' was researching, I knew that he was a man of many secrets. His eyes told me that. His voice told me that. And he, once in a fit of frustration and anger, told me straight out, that he, Adam Pierson or Methos, was not always the unassuming intellectual grad student that he personified. What were his words? 'There are Immortals out there that are that cruel and worse. A beautiful woman like you--prey to be had, raped, used, and thrown away. I know Mike, I was one.'

Now, I wish I would've pushed him for more info. 

Because now I'm stuck in some convent with a bunch of nuns and no answers. I'm not even Christian, yet I feel obligated to go to Mass at least once a day. 

He just left me.

He didn't really tell me why or how come. Just some mumbo-jumbo about his past coming to claim him. 

But I'll tell you one thing, he wasn't Adam, the cynical grad student, he was Methos, the oldest of all of us--the man who had seen and experienced more hell than any of us combined. 

And for the first time, since we met, he completely closed me off. Not even his usually side-stepping was applicable here. Just cold and hard emptiness.

Irony of all this, is now I finally understand why Duncan was so surprised to find out Methos had opened up to me. Now I see, it was a rarity. Although anominty of the Internet did play a part in our ability to trust one another, I guess I counted too much on that foundation we had built. 

I had already given him all that I could give. I'm even ready to kill now, when the time comes. And in the beginning, I did that for him.

So, now I'm here, 15 miles outside Seacouver, answer-less, with only the few belongings I had brought with me from Methos' condo and my apartment in St. Louis and Amanda's phone number if I don't hear from him. 

Even though this just happened tonight, it's almost as if when I play it back in my mind, I'm watching a film, starring someone who looks like me, acts like me--but isn't me. Where was my backbone? My anger? My righteousness? 

It left me the moment I saw his face.

I was sitting on the couch, reading a book. Adam and Duncan went to a taping of a game show and I was waiting to hear what had happened. It was a rarity that I didn't have my whole day planned before I went to bed the night before. An Immortal-in-training doesn't usually have a life. They work. All the time. For the past four months, that's all I've done. I know I've gotten better and we were planning on leaving Seacouver soon to see Europe. I was hoping it would be as lovers and not as teacher and student. 

As a lifted the lukewarm cafe mocha to my lips, I felt his buzz. I know most young Immortals cannot differentiate the quickenings of others, but I seemed to have the knack. I believe it's the old Mike part of me, who always seemed to be able to read people. In a way, I feel like that's what I do with quickenings. I read them.

I felt his and shuddered despite myself. It was Adam's, but it was colder and angrier than I'd ever felt before. It attacked my head, forcing my eyes shut as I heard the front door opening. I squinted and saw him standing across from me--his eyes forcing me to look at him.

"Where's your sword?" His voice, like everything else, was harsh.

I reached over to my side and pulled it up. "Here. Why?"

"Why didn't you have it drawn? Or do you just want anyone to take your bloody head."

I felt my face flush as I stumbled upwards. "I knew it was you! I told you I can tell the difference!"

"And that makes it alright? What happens if I want to take your head? Are you going to let me?" He gritted his teeth and turned on his heel. "Damn women. They'll be the death of me yet," he muttered as he walked into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open and close and beer cap flip ceremoniously behind the appliance. "Pack your shit, Mike. You're leaving!" he called out from the other room.

I didn't move. Leaving? He was going to leave me. I felt my heart sink as my eyes filled with tears.

He walked back towards me, sipping his beer, and stood in front of me. I could see the fear and pain in his eyes and feel it roll off him in waves. Instinctively, I reached for him--to touch his face--offer to shoulder some of his pain. Instead of the indulgent smile I usually got when I did that, his face clouded as he jerked out my reach. In its stead, he grabbed my hand and dragged me into my room. "Pack! No discussions, my dear. No votes and no empathy. You are out of here! Now!" He slammed the door shut behind me.

Staring at the closed door, I sobbed loudly. Rejection wasn't something I ever took well, which is why, I in turn, kept the most important parts of myself, closed off. Wiping my face, I went to the closet and pulled out my suitcase and began to pack my things.

Ten minutes later, I opened the door and walked out with my laptop backpack slung over my shoulder and my suitcase in hand. I dropped my baggage on the floor and went over to the coat rack and picked up my coat, checking the pocket to make sure it was empty of any impediments. Satisfied, I turned back to the couch, where I had left the sword and my stomach did another flip.

It was gone.

Before I could wonder or even panic, I heard a light swoosh and instinctively I jerked out of the way, falling to my side and rolling away until I hit the coffee table. My heart took off, thumping fast and loud, my andrenalin had surged and my stomach was in my throat. On my knees, I looked up to see Methos--and it was Methos--no Adam today--not since he left with Mac earlier--standing over me, his teeth clenched and his face contorted. 

I wondered if this was it.

"Don't ever leave your sword unattended, woman!" he said, his voice quiet, angry and intense all at the same time. "Especially around me!"

The tears began to flow once again as I numbly nodded, waiting for him to lower the only weapon that could easily end my life now.

A moment later he did.

I stood up, my body still shaking as I held out my hand for my weapon. Without letting our hands touch, he handed it to me and turned to the door as if to open it.

But he stopped.

I took a deep breath and worked the courage to speak. "Methos, what's wrong?"

I saw him flinch at my use of his real name. I rarely use it, only when I actually see Methos. For me, he will always be Adam first. Methos second. I suspect that he hates that I know him so well, especially when he was so cruelly trying to push me away.

"My past, Mike. It's come to claim me and I--." his voice broke as his head hit the door, "and I don't know if I'll be able to get me back."

He opened the door without saying anything else and waited for me to join him. I left my home without looking back, afraid that I would jinx myself and him, if I did.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked as I walked slightly behind him.

"A convent. About 15 miles outside of town. You'll be safe there."

I followed him out to the Bronco.

* * *

**Methos**

Until I came back to the condo from MacLeod's and felt an Immortal presence, I had forgotten all about Mike. Not about her per say, she was still there in my mind--but her presence in my home. 

It's rather difficult to explain really. All the time I had been talking to Kronos, her name had become a mental chant--'remember Mike--remember Mike and Mac, gotta get out of here--mike and mac.' Over and over again. I suppose, in a lot of ways, those two are my saviors in my mind. I'd long accepted who I'd been--Death--for over 1000 years. I can't say that I still don't have sweat-soaked nightmares about the bloodlust and the thrill of total power--so horrific in its pleasure that I'd wake up nearly orgasmic and sick at the same time. 

Yes, I still had those. But for the past 3000 years I've tried to, no aimed for, a better life--a less darkened existence. Was Methos, Death of the Four Horsemen the same Methos that offered his head to MacLeod in order that Kalas was defeated? 

No.

And yes.

Did I want to go back to that Methos?

A resounding no.

So, when I saw Mike sitting on the couch, her blond curly hair, loose and flowing about her, as she sat comfortably sipping her cup of cafe mocha, reading the latest Robert Jordan in that Wheel of Time series, as if nothing catastrophic had happened--

--nothing important.

I flipped.

And she cried. Oh, I know some of those tears were for herself, but they were for me too. And that's why I had to get her out of there. She knows me--better than most anyone alive today. And yet she has not a clue as to who I was or had been. She didn't know that I was one of the Horseman, but she did know that I wasn't always the calm, unassuming researcher.

How did she know this? And how did I know she knew this?

It was in her voice, everytime she called me Methos. Methos. My first name. The name I remember being called first. Everytime I heard my name fall across her lips, it was a reminder that somehow she knew my soul better than anyone else. 

Logically, I know I dropped some hints. But not many. No, this was who Mike was. She can read people. Their souls--their Quickenings like psychics read futures. Mike just knew.

And she still stayed.

And that, above all else, is what scared me the most. Acceptance.

I know she is in love with me. And the Adam part of me--he fell in love with her long before he even saw her face. Before I even fell in love with Alexa. In someways, my friendship and trust with Mike was what enabled me to open my heart up with such voracity when I was with Alexa. Mike's acceptance and friendship. And now, the Methos part, has begun to fall in love with her as well. The last one that broke through that warrior's shell was a young, beautiful Immortal, Cassandra, who I tortured and raped for years. Little did Cassandra realize that she was the reason I became disillusioned with the Horsemen. Her goodness was what pulled me out of that dark hole I had fallen into nearly a thousand years.

On the outside, they are nothing alike. Cassandra, who I've just seen for the first time in 3000 years, still has that Old World feel about her. A Goddess. I heard she was worshipped as one for a milieu in the Britons. I am not surprised. She is also a sorceress. Tall, proud, regal, long, wild dark hair with dark eyes and a cunning wit. And Mike, not as tall or slender as Cassandra. Instead Mike has much more of a womanly figure, with sensual curves and beautiful, full muscles. Where Cassandra's hair is dark, Mike's is blond--kissed by the sun. But Mike also has a wonderful sense of humor and extraordinary way of making the world, no matter how dark or horrible, look as if it was a badly written comedy sketch. And her Mid-Western sexual innuendo's--I swear those people have the dirtiest minds of any people alive. Mike told me it was all that repressed sexual energy. I believe it. 

But I can't help but wonder, if I had treated Cassandra the way I treat Mike, how different would they be now? 

Not by much. And that is too horrid to contemplate.

Unfortunately, that was not Cassandra's fate. Now, she has enough bitterness in her heart that it's threatening to consume her soul. And I saw her standing in MacLeod's loft, I kept thinking of what a fool I had been to destroy that wonderful woman. Which made me all the more anxious to protect the one that was still untouched by Kronos' evil. I had to keep her whole and good.

So, I panicked and prayed that it was her I was feeling and not Kronos when I pulled up in front of our home. Mike's quickening is different than most young ones. It's strong. As strong as Richie's and he's taken many heads and a lot of them were old Immortals. It's another one of those unique qualities that make me want to protect her and keep her from knowing how evil the world, or even I, could be. All this kept running through my mind as I barked at Mike to hurry up and get packed. The mantra returned with a twist: pleasedon'tletKronosfindherandforcemetodestroyheraswell...

* * *

**_One Week Later_**

**Mike**

I got two calls today telling me that all was clear. One from Joe, who must've known I was going nuts (it didn't help that I had been calling him repeatedly for the last couple of days, knowing that something had happened and yet hearing nothing...) and he told me that both Mac and Methos were still alive. And okay.

Then he called. His voice was strained and tired. His pain, before was locked tightly inside, now seemed tangible and breathing. I found myself crying, so relieved that he was still alive that I could've thrown him down and made love to him right there and yet, I felt held back. He told me he was leaving in the morning to pick me up. We were going to Paris. Then he hung up--leaving me once again with more questions than answers, but at least he was still alive...

Then I had a visitor.

When Sister Mary Margaret told me that there was a woman there to see me, I was shocked. At first I wondered if it was Amanda. That the lines had gotten crossed somehow and she was there to pick me up.

As I walked down from the dormitory to the library, I felt the Immortal buzz. It was strong and old. Older than Duncan's or Richie's, but not as old as Adam's. It was an angry and confused Quickening. One of someone who didn't receive their justice.

This was something I could understand.

The man he gave me my first death had never been caught. So, I had no justice either.

I took a deep breath and entered the room to see a tall, dark-haired woman staring out the window. Her hair, unruly like mine, seemed to have a mind of its own as the blower from the heater hit it. She stood so still, a part of me wondered if she was really alive. My fanciful part, no doubt. Laughing at my own silliness, I cleared my throat. 

"Hello, I'm Mike Evans," I said as I carefully approached the strange woman. I stopped a 'sword-swinging' distance from her in case she didn't pay attention to the rules. 

"I know who you are," she whispered as her finger released the curtain. She turned to face me and instantly I was struck by her beauty. This woman was everything I had ever wished I could be, I thought to myself. Her smile was cool as if she read my mind. "What I would like to know is if you have any idea who your mentor really is?" She asked as she leaned against the window sill and studied me openly. "Or are you some love-sick fool that's willing to give her life up for that evil bastard without a thought?"

My face fell. "You were with them? Mac and Adam?"

"I see you're perceptive as well. I didn't get into his mind very much this past week, but what I did learn was of his protectiveness of you. And how he believed his redemption laid with you. So tell me, Michelle, are you going to redeem Methos?"

I dropped my eyes as my mind raced. Redeem him? How can I do that? I'm just a woman. A friend. 

"I don't understand."

"You do know that the man that took you under his wing was none other than one of the Four Horsemen, didn't you? Did you know he called himself Death? He was murderer, a rapist, a power-hungry evil man!" her voice rose as she began listing Methos' faults. As she said each of his transgressions, I felt another piece of the Methos-Adam puzzle fall into place. Why he treated me the way he did last week. His need to protect me. His fear. His past. 

I took a deep breath and looked up and met her dark, hate-filled eyes. "Although I don't doubt that you're telling the truth, that still doesn't define who he is today," I said softly as I tried to squash the panic threatening to bubble outwards. Taking another breath, I began chanting to myself that I knew all these things already. Somehow I did. Just to have them confirmed shouldn't change my feelings towards him. And they didn't. I just had wanted to hear it from him first.

"Oh, not you too!" The woman raised her fist and pounded on the window sill. "I'm so sick to death of you and MacLeod trying to save him! What he did was wrong!"

"I know. I don't know you, but my first death was from a serial killer-rapist. Guess who was there when I woke up? Who cleaned me up? Fed me my first Immortal meal? Held my hand when I called my father to ask him how? Or taught me how to fight? Or to survive? Yes, the same man. All I can think of is that somehow, he has learned and changed. Or what would've stopped him from treating me the same way he treated you?"

The woman's face paled as she closed her eyes. Tiny tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "Damn him," she muttered as she stepped around me and went to the door. She turned around, her eyes bright with tears as they met mine. "You maybe right. But tell me, Michelle, how do I reconcile those two men?"

I swallowed hard as I shook my head. "I don't know. But I know the one person who could tell you how he did, is the one person you're not going to want to talk to."

She left without another word.

I found out the next day, I had had the pleasure of meeting the Immortal witch, Cassandra. Whose first death was at the hands of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and for years afterwards, she had been Methos' slave.

My, how he has changed.

* * *

**Methos**

She was waiting for me when I pulled into the convent's driveway. She was sitting on the steps, her bags and coat next to her, clad in a bulky multi-colored sweater, a long full patchwork skirt with the black leather boots I had bought for her a month before when I found she only owned Nike's. Her hair was down and it flowed about whimsically in long, impetuous curls. 

She was beautiful. And Gods, I was happy to see her.

Her face, although unchanged, seemed older. Maybe it was the eyes. More wisdom to be had in the past two weeks...

Or she found out.

I told myself I was being paranoid as I walked up to her. But I was preaching to a deaf audience. 

Because this time I wasn't.

She did know.

I stopped. Although I wanted to pick up and twirl her around--this woman-child who insinuated herself into my world, heart and soul, but I couldn't. I felt too ashamed. 

Cautiously, I reached out my hand and touched her cheek. I felt her hot tears as they wet my fingers.

She pressed her face into my hand.

My heart sang as I leapt up the stairs, just a step below hers so our eyes were even. I brought my other hand up and cupped her face, willing myself to remain open to her while praying that she did the same for me.

She smiled while a sob escaped, causing her to laugh at herself. After she wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater, she ran a finger across my dry lips and smiled again.

"Welcome home, Methos," she whispered.

I felt something inside of me break at that moment. My dread and fear that she, like MacLeod would walk away from me and leave me alone in this cruel world. Or maybe it was because I came so close to losing my head to Cassandra. Or it was the erotic double quickening that Mac and I took. Or maybe it was everything. 

I fell into her arms and cried for the second time in as many days.

She gently pulled me down, so we were both sitting on the cool concrete, her cradling my head against her chest, rocking back and forth, whispering the words of love and security that were known through out the world. After awhile, I slowly lifted my head and pulled her closer, wrapping my arms tightly around her, mumbling gods-no-what, kissing her cheeks, nose, eyes and finally her lips. Although it was a desperate need to feel her love; her affirmation that I was indeed loved, as my mouth pressed itself against hers, my lips forcing hers to open as my tongue desperately sought entrance. She battled back, fighting against her own demons as she pulled me inside.

But eventually began to relax and slowly pull away. It was then she chuckled.

"What?" I asked, grinning as I swooped down for another kiss.

"Another faux pas, Old Man. You're slipping. Before you realize it, I might even believe you have a heart."

"Damn you, Mike. You always bring out the worst in me," I shot back inching back a bit. "Come on, let's get out of here and get a hotel room. I think it's about time we make mad passionate love, don't you?"

I felt her body tremble in response. 

"Adam?"

"Umm?"

"I don't know if you've figured this out yet or not, but you do know that I love you, right?"

I pulled back to look into those beautiful dark gray eyes of hers. They met mine without flinching, sparkling in delight.

I grinned as I slipped out of her arms and picked up her suitcase and backpack, leaving her coat for her to carry. Before I turned towards the car, I decided one more kiss wouldn't be a bad idea. She loved me. And one thing I figured out in these past couple of weeks was that Methos and Adam were in complete agreement about her: I loved her as well.

"Well, I guess it'll work then, Mike, because it just so happens that I find myself in complete agreement with myself, I love you too."

"Really?" She asked following me to my Bronco. I stopped and turned, watching this Immortal-child's face light up and had to laugh.

"Really, Mike."

#  The End 


End file.
